Scared
by Trekkiehood
Summary: Colonel Hogan's injuries are serious. Newkirk's not scared. Really he's not. The Colonel will be fine as always. Book 3 in Home series. I do not own Hogan's Heroes.


**Here's the much-belated part three! With Captain Marvel and Endgame coming out, my focus switched to Marvel, but I'm back with this! Let me know what you think of Newkirk :)**

**God bless,**  
**Trekkiehood**

**~TH~**

He wasn't afraid. He wasn't.

Colonel Hogan would be okay. He had to be.

Newkirk and Kinch moved in silence, carrying the limp body between them.

He had to be okay. He couldn't lose another... friend. He gave a small, inward laugh. Calling an officer a friend? He never thought he'd see the day.

Watching the barely moving chest, Newkirk thought that maybe it had been a mistake. This was war. They were spies. He couldn't afford to get attached to people. All people ever did was leave.

But he wasn't scared. He wasn't.

He had no reason to be. The colonel had pulled through much worse. He had. When the Govoner was first brought to Stalag 13 he had been in rough condition. Worse than now. And he'd recovered. He'd recovered and started one of the most successful espionage groups the Allies had. A measly bullet wound couldn't stop the colonel! He'd bounce right back. He always did.

The sound of one of Carter's bombs going off nearly made Newkirk lose his grip. Even with the slight jostling, the Yank Officer remained unresponsive.

But he would be fine. He was always fine.

More gun shot's fired behind him.

He tensed, but he wasn't scared. He couldn't be scared. Fear was a weakness. It was a weakness he couldn't afford. He had never been able to afford it on the streets of London and he couldn't afford it now.

He would be fine. The colonel would be fine. Carter would be fine. They would all be fine.

The shots were getting further away, not closer. Andrew had done his job. Now the young sergeant would return to Stalag 13 before roll call. They would all return before roll call. They would all make it back safe and the colonel would survive.

When they reached the Stump, Newkirk was sent down first. Kinch passed down the unconscious man and the Englander attempted not to panic as the blood began to coat his hands.

The colonel would be fine. He was always fine.

Newkirk wasn't scared. He refused to be. Not when he was a kid. Not when he was shot down. Certainly not now.

Everyone would be okay. Everyone was always okay.

Kinch helped carry the unconscious man through the tunnel. When they reached the main room, Lebeau was sitting on the bunk looking ill. The Frenchman stood when he saw his friends. "Wilson is ready." He said simply, leading them to one of the back rooms.

The field medic was waiting quietly, an assortment of medical tools sitting on a small stool. A medium sized table had been cleared off in the centre of the room. The colonel was quickly placed on it.

"Out." Wilson commanded with a grim look towards his patient.

Newkirk began to protest until he saw Lebue swaying on his feet. As he helped his friend to the radio room, he heard the medic whisper, "This is bad, Kinch. I don't know if-"

"You have to try." The staff sergeant answered back forcefully. "Just do... something."

The two Europeans could hear the slight desperation before they were out of earshot. Newkirk sat Lebeau back on the bed, helping him lie down. He then occupied Kinch's chair behind the control desk.

The colonel would be fine. Wilson would fix it. He always did.

He wasn't afraid. He really wasn't.

His fingers tapped aimlessly on the desk. How long had Carter been gone? Surely they would have heard something by now if he was captured. The young sergeant had been in uniform and wearing his dog tags. They would know if he had been captured. But if he had been killed...

Nope. Carter would be showing up any minute now. Any minute he would come down from the Stump.

Andrew would be fine. He'd be fine.

The Englander wasn't sure how much time had passed Lebeau suddenly sat up on the bunk. The Frenchman looked better, but still a little green.

"_Pierre_," Newkirk glanced up at the voice, "you are shaking."

"It's nothin'." He shook his head defiantly, fingers still moving in fast beats. "Jus' a bit of adrenaline. You know 'ow it is after a mission goes south. At least I wasn' the one out there tonight. I would've been killed instantly. Not as lucky as the colonel."

Lebeau fixed his friend with a hard look, "I would not call_ le colonel _lucky after what happened tonight."

Peter abandoned his tapping for a tight grip on the table. "Well at least 'e was only shot twice," sarcasm dripped from every word, "I think the Krauts were goin' easy on 'im. "

"_Colonel_ Hogan is not well."

Newkirk let off a bitter laugh, "You don't 'ave to remind me, Loius. I'm the one who carried 'im!"

He looked down at his hands. They were shaking, just like Lebeau had said. He'd forgotten about the blood. His hands were still stained red.

"If anyone knows 'ow bad off 'e is it'd be me!"

He wasn't scared. He was annoyed. It wasn't fear. Just annoyance at Lebeau. And Carter. Where was he?

Before the French corporal could respond, a noise was heard from the tunnel entrance. Footsteps ran towards them.

"Where's the colonel?" A very out of breath Carter asked.

Newkirk found himself breathing a sigh of relief. Not that he was scared. Just relieved. It'd be a pain if one of them was out of camp during roll call.

Roll call.

He looked down at his watch. Five minutes. They had five minutes.

"Get changed!" He stood, pushing both of them towards the barrack entrance.

Then he turned and sprinted into the makeshift operating room.

"Kinch!" The sergeant looked up from where he was pressing into his commanding officer's stomach. Blood covered up to the man's elbows and Newkirk found he needed to stop to collect himself. "Kinch, roll call, what do we do?"

He was sounding panicked. He could hear it in his own voice.

No. No.

He couldn't panic. He didn't panic. That was Lebeau and Carter. They panicked. They worried. They were scared. Not him. Never him.

Not Kinch. But the look was unmistakable. Kinch was scared. And if Kinch was scared then maybe it wasn't so unreasonable for him to be scared. But he couldn't be. Couldn't be because roll call was in three minutes and the three men in front of him couldn't leave. Two men were the only things standing between Colonel Hogan and death.

"Just..." Peter could see the sergeant collect himself, "make sure everyone's ready. Tell Shultz that Hogan is sick, quarantined. I'm with him. Make it believable. If the Gestapo shows up..." his voice trailed off for a moment, "Just pray they don't."

Newkirk made it to the bottom of the ladder, taking a deep breath. Nothing was okay. He was scared. Very, very scared. As he climbed the ladder, he pushed the overwhelming fear behind his sarcastic mask of indifference and anger.

He may have been scared, but no one needed to know. They all had bigger things to worry about.

**~TH~**

**Not going to say it's my best work, but at least it's here. I hope my characterization of Newkirk was okay. I know it's a bit different, but that's kind of how I see it.**

**I think he gets scared but doesn't want to admit it, so he pushes it behind his sarcasm and sometimes annoying indifference. His outward pessimism hides his inward hope.**

**Regardless, I hope you enjoyed it!**

**I think I'm going to do Lebeau next. I'll try to make it quicker than last time...**

**God bless,**

**Trekkiehood (Jamie)**


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